White wall
by Hobbity
Summary: When Harry Potter opened his eyes, at first all he could see was white.


Disclaimer- JK Rowling owns all.

Warning: This fic is weird and hardcore fans might hate me for it.

But I don't care. La la laa!

* * *

When Harry Potter opened his eyes, at first all he could see was white.

It took him what seemed like a long time to collect his thoughts into some rational meaning. What had happened? There had been a fight, Voldemort had been laughing and he, Harry, had been falling. There had been a huge flash of blinding green light, and then there was blackness.

And now there was white.

For a minute, Harry wondered if he had died. But then, as his head cleared somewhat, he realised that he was lying on a bed, and his vision was blurred because..

His glasses had been broken in the fight- he remembered them falling off, cracking..

And yet when he rolled onto his side, he could make out a small wooden table, upon which the glasses in question sat.

He must have been moved into the hospital wing. And someone- possibly Hermione- had fixed his glasses. What had happened to Voldemort, then?

He sat up, put on his glasses, and the world became sharp and clear again.

This was certainly not the hospital wing.

The floor wasn't polished wood, it was a dull off-white slate that looked cold and stained. There weren't any other beds, just his in a room that wasn't much bigger than his bedroom at the Dursley's. The walls were cool, slick tiles.

Harry Potter blinked, his head hurting again immediately. It was probably his scar hurting again- over the past year he'd had a constant headache.

He tried to stand up, but a wave of dizziness overcame him, so he remained still, sitting on the edge of his unfamiliar bed, blinking around at the confusing room that seemed somehow familiar.

There were footsteps. Harry pause, hoping that perhaps it was Professor Dumbledore or Ron, come to explain where he was and what had happened to Voldemort..

The small grey door swung open, and a man with a deeply lined face and honey-brown hair stepped in. He wore a sort of white apron, and was carrying a little bottle in his hand. He gave Harry a quick, warm smile as he set the bottle down.

"Morning, Harry." Said the man, coming over to straighten out the boy's pillows. Harry stared at him blankly for a moment, and then a horrible thought occurred to him. What if he had been captured by Voldemort? Not killed, but locked away in some horrible place where they were going to torture him…

Like Neville's parents. Torture him to death.

"Where's Dumbledore?" He asked furiously, hoping to strike fear into the man. But he only received another swift, calculating look. The stranger did not answer, but stepped round and helped Harry to stand up.

"Come on, Harry…Let's get you cleaned up."

"Cleaned up?" Harry repeated, horror-struck. He didn't need cleaning up! Unless that was some sort of code.

"Yes. Can you walk?"

"Of course I can." Harry said impatiently, angrily pushing the man's hand off his shoulder and striding towards the door. Where was his wand? Maybe he could get out of here..

"Slow down, Harry- there's no need to rush."

Whoever this bloke was, he seemed very calm. And much too nice to be one of Voldemort's followers. He reminded Harry- for some reason- of Lupin. And with that thought, a little bit of trust blossomed. And so Harry slowed down.

He was led down a long corridor- this was better, the wooden floors were back and it didn't seem so threatening. Maybe this man was a member of the Order of The Phoenix, and he was taking Harry to see everyone else.

But instead, the man steered him into a little bathroom.

"Take your time, Harry. Your toothbrush is there and the soap is on the ledge. I'll be outside" he said, and then closed the door.

Harry Potter stood very still.

There was, indeed, a little dish with soap in it. It was on the sink, upon which a green toothbrush also sat. There was a toilet in the corner, and a little mirror, and..

Harry froze.

_That _wasn't right.

A plug socket.

But..

Electrical appliances couldn't work in Hogwarts.

Okay, so maybe they weren't in Hogwarts. Harry forced himself to calm down. It didn't mean anything.

He heard voices, and pressed his ear up against the door.

"…Looking better today, got a bit more life in him, if you know what I mean."

"Does he know where he is yet?" The second voice was a woman's, and it was concerned.

"I'm not sure- he's still asking for someone called Dumbledore."

"Oh dear.."

There was a third voice, and Harry's insides lurched because it sounded just like Snape.

"Nothing to worry about, though- he's no harm to himself or anyone else."

Harry frowned. What did Snape care if he was a harm to himself?

"No…He's perfectly harmless. In fact, he might have just retreated into a sort of fantasy world, just to escape the trauma, you know."

Someone sighed, and someone else laughed sadly.

"Well, I suppose there's no other explanation for it..."

"For what, doctor?"

"Well, he thinks he's some sort of wizard, Mrs Potter. He's convinced that he's trying to fight the forces of evil."

"Oh, god…"

"He says he has to destroy someone called Voldemort.."

"Voldemort? Oh dear.."

"What? There isn't really someone called Voldemort, is there?" The Snape-man asked.

"No, of course not. But we used to have a neighbour called Valerie…she was from France, and we called her Val.."

"And her second name…"

"Was DeMort. He must have remembered that somehow."

Harry stepped away from the door, his heart beating fast. He felt sick, his world was spinning. This had to be some kind of a joke..

He turned around and looked into the small mirror. His blood ran cold.

The reflection was definitely him.

But he looked different. His hair wasn't black, it was a sort of auburn-brown. His eyes were more blue than green.

And when he looked closely…

…There was no scar.

There was no scar.


End file.
